


Strip

by Decada



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Adulthood, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Confusion, Drinking, Existential Crisis, Gen, Lost Childhood, Rock Bottom - Freeform, Spiraling, There's like one vague mention of England lmao, adulthood is not glamorous at all, unachieved goals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 05:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10757319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decada/pseuds/Decada
Summary: A poem of Adult!Sealand (based on my RP blog, captainrustedfort.tumblr.com), as he tries (again and again) to find where he went wrong.





	Strip

Sea Boy’s looking at me through the frame,  
Cheeky smile, one that lights a candle.  
I keep asking, “Who are you? Who are you?”  
“I feel I should know.”  
But swimming through the muck  
Gives me headaches, and shit

This bourbon isn’t helping.

But I knock them back, a shot for a loss  
That I’m reaching for, again and again.  
He had youth, he had dreams,  
He had the will to conquer, but with  
A gentle, knowing fist.  
I’m one-fourth in the bottle.

The kid watches me, I try to look away.

I can hear him asking,  
“Is this what you do all day?”  
I’m not sure if I said out loud,  
“Why not? You don’t have anything else to do.”  
No reason to get out of bed,  
No reason to scarf down the ‘Loft,  
No reason to drain battery for calls

That I never get back.

I’m half down the bottle.  
Gut’s burning like hell.  
Burning like the steel bathing in the sun,  
Or the salt in the eyes from the swim.  
But the splash is cool and sweet.

God, it was cool and sweet…

There’s a journal under his bed,  
Secured with dollar lock and key,  
And he writes all the dreams he had,  
The ones that were supposed to come true.  
The ones that made him say, swelling with pride,  
“I’m ___ ___!”

I’m…

I’m nearing the bottom,  
My breath’s so bad,  
My head hurts, but I’m stupidly  
Stubborn, so I keep digging  
For the answers, for what I used to  
Have in the palm of my hand.

What was lost in The Fall of the Great ___ ___!

Each year taking and taking,  
A petal falling away from the ugly bud.  
Each year stripping something,  
Then the months, weeks,  
Mornings, and nights I never use.  
“Who are you? Who are you?”

“I feel I should know.”

Fragile innocence, stellar goals,  
Definitely a good night’s sleep.  
Bits and pieces of a brother’s love,  
Fuel to be a fighter, a charming scrapper.  
Rock solid, stars in his eyes,  
Fist held high in the air.

Strip after strip falling in a pile.

I shouldn’t have drained this bottle,

I could’ve used it to piece me back together.


End file.
